


fleeting thoughts

by vixen (hestiaandhercat)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Seriously Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hestiaandhercat/pseuds/vixen
Summary: She is fleeting.Please.Her wand is up and trained on her victim in the blink of an eye. She has learned not to waste time. She was good at duelling before, now she’s good at fighting.Don’t beg, dear Bella.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	fleeting thoughts

She is fleeting.

_Please._

Her wand is up and trained on her victim in the blink of an eye. She has learned not to waste time. She was good at duelling before, now she’s good at fighting.

_Don’t beg, dear Bella._

Darkness engulfes her kills, wipes them from her mind most of the time, which is the only blessing, for if she remembered, if she truly remembered… 

_I’m going mad._

She used to be the brightest of her age. Now she’s just the scariest.

_You already are, dear._

The voice, always the voice, cold, wry amusement in it, about her, her suffering, the way she brings it upon others; it follows her into dreams and nightmares alike, she loves him, she hates him, fears him; she is in pain, which is somehow all three of them at once, and there is a burning sensation in her throat that makes her break out into mad cackling laughter.

_Please, I just… want to go… go home…_

She is his dog, his lieutenant, servant, executor. She is pain and suffering and- 

_Make them suffer as much as you do._

He is in her mind, even when He does not cast legilimens on her, has already wormed His way into her deepest thoughts so long ago that she can’t remember a time when her head belonged to her alone. She is His, utterly and to the end, and she is insane.

Sometimes she thinks that maybe she always was insane, that He has just brought it to the surface, that this is her purpose, pain and pain and even more of it until she can’t breathe because she is laughcrypanicking too much, but then she remembers the things He has done to turn her insane and knows that this is not who she was meant to be.

Which raises the question: who is she?

There are days when she thinks (fears, believes, hopes) that she knows, or at least is beginning to unravel this particular mystery, that maybe there is a shred of Trixie in her left, not Bella who belongs to Him and is evil and pale and deadly and mad, but Trixie, who is a shy girl in her seventh year, gets the best grades in everything but broomstick riding, has about three friends, and is not bothered by it, helps students with their homework and in return gets told constantly that she should’ve been sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin.

She does not particularly mind being in Slytherin, though. Ambitious might not be the same as smart, but luckily, she can be both at once, and on top of that, green suits her.

Now she only wears black.

_Where am I?_

It’s the little acts of defiance that keep her sane in the beginning, things that Bella would never do, and Trixie wouldn’t either, things that almost make her believe there might be a point of return she has not yet passed - letting people die quickly when Bella wants to torture them. Letting people live when Trixie is afraid of the repercussions.

There are, of course, always repercussions, but she has learned that she will suffer either way, He has decided that she will, and she lovesfearshatesloves Him, so she has to stay by His side.

_You’re mine, dearest._

And yet, she is still fighting, a small part of her is still there, unbroken, defiant, tucked away safely inside a sea of misery, pain and fear so that He shall not know.

It is only much later that she realizes He has known all along, when He takes her to a room in the basement - her room - and shows her all the added suffering she has brought on the ones she meant to save. And then He makes her kill them, one by one.

_I hate you._

Killing them is not even hard to do. They have spent weeks, months, years, _time_ in suffering and are barely human anymore. Just like she is barely human anymore, just a corpse strung together by His attention, His will, His liking.

If He was to drop her, she’d fall dead on the spot, and she knows this. The thought has a comforting edge to it, like the thrilling glimmer of a razor, the reassuring grip of a knife. There is an end to all of this.

_You love me._

Then he starts experimenting with immortality, and something deep inside of her, where her defiance once sat, is screaming, screaming and crying and writhing and laughing, and she can’t stop. He doesn’t make her stop, either, so it keeps going, a lifetime of suppressed laughter bundled up safely inside her. Sometimes it quells over her lips, and then she has to torture someone to let it out. 

_I love you._

All monsters are made by men, but she is made by Him, and so she isn’t a monster, she is just broken, insane, lost. Fleeting, and yet somehow, unimaginably, still here.

  
  
  
  



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